


In Medias Res

by HoopyFrood



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Domestic Bliss, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-26 09:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoopyFrood/pseuds/HoopyFrood
Summary: Eddie, still the scrappy little shit he’s always been, crosses his arms and cocks his chin up in playful defiance. “Just because you’re the love of my life doesn’t mean you’re not the bane of my existence.”





	In Medias Res

“God, I hate you,” is the first thing Eddie says to him when he finally arrives backstage alongside Richie’s harried manager.

“You know, that would be a lot more convincing if you hadn’t shot out of your seat and started clapping like a seal as soon I finished my set,” Richie points out, throwing a grateful smile at his manager who gives him a weak salute before making a beeline for the table laden with champagne bottles, a big bouquet of flowers Ben and Bev had sent displayed proudly among them.

It’d been easy to pick Eddie out of the audience when he was onstage, his eyes naturally gravitating towards him to see if he was laughing, if he looked proud. For years Richie wondered why doing stand-up felt more like a chore than a childhood dream come true, why he slowly stopped writing his own material and started to need a drink or four to get through a routine. It was only after remembering the Losers, remembering _Eddie_, he realised his goal had always been to make just one specific person laugh and if he could do that, making the rest of the world follow suit would be a piece of piss.

It’s still jarring to not have the daily anxiety of _I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do, so why aren’t I happy?_ after living with it for so long, but with every morning he wakes up pressed against Eddie’s back the future becomes a little clearer, no longer blurred at the edges and filled with faceless shadowed figures.

Eddie, still the scrappy little shit he’s always been, crosses his arms and cocks his chin up in playful defiance. “Just because you’re the love of my life doesn’t mean you’re not the bane of my existence.”

Richie takes a stumbled step backwards as if he’s been pushed and clutches dramatically at his chest. “He shoots, he scores,” he gasps.

Eddie rolls his eyes, already rising up onto his tiptoes to meet Richie halfway in a soft, familiar kiss. “You killed it,” he mumbles against a Richie’s lips. “Just like I said you would.”

“Getting mixed signals here, Eds,” he says, chasing Eddie’s mouth until he’s settled back down onto his feet.

“Why change the habit of a lifetime, right?” he says before scrunching up his nose and retrieving a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his blazer. “You’re so sweaty. How is it you sweat so much onstage? All you do is stand there.”

Richie laughs and patiently holds still as Eddie proceeds to dab along his hairline. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Eddie scoffs, squirreling away the soiled fabric with a grimace. “A _thanks_ is the least I deserve considering I’ve provided at least half an hour of new material for this tour,” he says with a petulant pout that will probably always make Richie’s face prickle with heat, the sight of it forever entwined with memories of summer evenings spent grappling in a swinging hammock.

Richie snags the bottom of Eddie’s tie, suddenly desperate to keep him close. He wraps it around his fist once, twice, drawing Eddie back towards him. “Hey, come on now, you can’t bust my balls about shit you already knew would be in there.”

“There’s a slight difference between sitting in your underwear in the middle of our living room, laughing through mouthfuls of cold pizza as you write a bit about the time you let me get so high that I genuinely thought I was dying and performing it for a Netflix special,” Eddie points out.

“You made me watch _Boogie Nights_ with you then cried yourself to sleep while eating cool ranch doritos. The world needs to know,” Richie adds, punctuating each word with a tug and grinning widely when Eddie finally bats his hands away.

“What I’m saying, you big fucking idiot,” he says, poking Richie square in the chest, “is that I think I deserve something in return…” He lets himself trail off, the implication clear.

Richie’s mouth fall open in surprised delight. “Ah, quid pro quo, gotcha,” he says, nodding eagerly before clearing his throat. “And what exactly do you want, Mr. Kaspbrak?” He asks, lowering his voice.

“Well Mr. Tozier,” Eddie replies, matching Richie’s tone in a way that makes his stomach swoop. He takes a few seconds to unnecessarily fix Richie’s collar, then smooths his hands down the front of his shirt until they come to rest gently on his belt. “I say that as soon as we do the necessary schmoozing, you take me to that Chinese place two blocks over from the apartment. I know how much you love their chicken dumplings and I could honestly kill for a chow mein right about now. Then we’ll go home, turn off our alarms for the morning, and fall asleep in front of reruns of Forensic Files.”

Chest tight with affection, Richie slides his fingers across Eddie’s cheek until his palm covers the fine silvery scar that mars his skin. “Sounds perfect.”

Eddie hums, leaning into Richie’s touch. “And if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll blow you in the car,” he adds with a shrug, the corners of his lips quirking upwards.

Richie stares at him, only snapping out of it when Eddie pushes his glasses back up his nose from where they had slowly begun to slide down. “Grab your coat; we’re leaving right this second. Actually, screw your coat we’ve already wasted too much time.” He spins around and crouches down in front of Eddie, gesturing wildly at his back. “Here, get on, it’ll be quicker this way, you’ll only slow us down with those little legs of yours.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie laughs as he pulls them over to a group of important looking people in suits that Richie should probably recognise.

They meet with the network executives, his agent, some of Richie’s comedian buddies that have come along for moral support, and a few other people before circling back around to Richie’s manager who is already nursing his third glass of champagne and visibly looser now that the night is blessedly over.

“There’s a handful of people still waiting outside but I’m pretty sure I saw a fire exit on the other side of the venue you could probably slip out of unseen,” he offers helpfully.

“Nah, it’s okay,” Eddie says before Richie can agree. “Meet your fans, man. Sign some autographs and take a few awful selfies. I mean, we can’t have them finding out how much of an asshole you are _just_ yet. We’ve still got the kitchen renovation to pay for.”

Richie can’t contain a sharp bark of laughter that has a few people look over at them in interest. “Christ, and I’m the asshole?”

Eddie holds up his hands. “You said it, dude, not me.”

It’s only when they’re saying their final goodbyes and already halfway out the door that Eddie curses. “Oh, shit, the flowers,” he says, pointing towards the table. Richie doubles back and scoops them up into his arms, their sweet scent immediately hitting him full force in the face. “Wait a sec,” Eddie orders, slipping out his iPhone from his back pocket. “Hold still. And Jesus, Rich, smile.”

Richie plasters on a wide, obnoxious grin that has Eddie sighing in annoyance. “We’re taking them home, why do we need photos?” He asks, periodically switching between various awkward poses and unflattering expressions, each one more ridiculous than the last.

“To let Ben and Bev know they arrived safely and so we can share this special moment with our best friends,” he says, the silent _duh_ left hanging in the air. He holds out the phone to the person closest to him with a polite _do you mind?_ and goes to Richie’s side.

“It’s never been more obvious that you’ve been married before,” Richie points out, slinging his arm around Eddie’s shoulders and pulling him in closer.

“Fuck off.”

Richie presses his lips against Eddie’s temple. “Love you, too.”

With the weight of the no doubt stupidly expensive flowers from his friends in one arm, and the solid feel of Eddie under the other, he’s struck with the feeling that he was always meant to end up here one way or another. Happy. _Proud_. It’s not a particularly new revelation, not anymore, but it still manages to catch him off guard sometimes. He feels his grin transform into something a little more genuine.

Sensing the change, Eddie looks up at him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What’s that face all about?”

“I was just wondering if you were going to lean over gearshift or if you’re more of a fumbling around in the backseat kinda guy. We’re forty, Eds, these things need to be planned down to the most minute detail otherwise we’ll throw our backs out.”

Eddie elbows him in the ribs, the scandalised hiss of _Richie_ barely past his lips before he starts cackling instead.

He doesn’t know how he survived so long without this. Without Eddie and his laughter.


End file.
